


What Kind Of Accent Is That? (Our Own)

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Humor, M/M, bits of worldbuilding, nostalgic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Love's just a made-up word, money value's just a social construct, but Master Codebreaker's bill definitely isn't right.





	What Kind Of Accent Is That? (Our Own)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



‘I’m sorry, but this is not right.’ Master Codebreaker, in his mind still calling himself just Tim, flashed one of his smiles at the casino host, a tall, solemn Twi’lek. ‘May I ask for the detailed bill, please? Date, time and number of the cash register included. Please.’

The Twi’lek twitched before breaking into a long litany of casino’s safety measures and the value they put in their guest’s — friend’s — trust. The host’s name was Ofran, but it would be rather impolite to use this piece of information now. Besides, despite making a show of being offended — in the casino’s name, of course — it wasn’t like he could do anything. No one in Canto Bight would say “no” to Master Codebreaker. No casino would unless it would like to make its players very happy and very rich, hence going bankrupt in a week.

So the litany was given: Tim insisted, Ofran’s heart broke over this display of distrust, Tim offered him a generous tip, Ofran’s heart magically healed and in the end the bill appeared before Master Codebreaker on a silver platter.

It wasn’t right, of course. Tim wouldn’t have become the Master Codebreaker if he couldn’t count. His wins and losses were correct, but the amount he spent on beverages — nope. And really, Tim was more or less accustomed to this. Every slicer, hacker or a simple conman in the city tried to defeat him from time to time and putting a bottle of champagne on his bill — hacking the hotel’s, not his personal security — was the easiest way. Quite often, Tim even paid for them, treating it like repaying the debt to the city and social circle which raised him. He just liked to know who and when, because sometimes the culprit wasn’t your typical fresh, arrogant kid, worth finding and giving a few pieces of advice, but was an actual competitor.

This time... Aha. The champagne was one of his favourites, but the rice spirits from Arkanis — to the contrary. And Tim didn’t remember ordering the spicy candies from Lothal. He knew a person who loved them both, though. So, now to the address... The cash register’s number ended in “69”, but this was just a vulgar allusion slash invitation slash promise... So, the exact sum spent divided by the number of purchases... Nope... Price of every purchase in binary, added and divided and the whole operation changed into letters... Oh, it was a really nice hotel and... Ah. Yeah. Of course. Really, Tim sighed to himself, finally signing the bill and leaving a copy for himself, what I was expecting?

*

‘How high?’

‘The bail? He already paid it.’ The chief of police didn’t even seem angry. ‘I don’t think we’re gonna officially accuse him. It was all his droid’s doing, you know. And it was trying to kill  _him_. Or something. He’s a poor innocent victim.’

‘But I heard rumours about... someone’s daring escape?’

The policeman threw him a hard, tired glance. Master Codebreaker answered with one of his most dashing smiles and watched the man’s cheeks go red.

‘You owe me a dinner.’

‘Owe? It’s always a pleasure to meet with you, Farris.’

‘We had an escape, yes. But  _he_  didn’t escape. He was released on bond,’ Farris emphasised every word. ‘Just... perhaps, maybe, who knows... the bail money came a little... later.’

‘Some problems with registering the bank transfer?’ provided Tim helpfully.

‘He paid in cash. And not with Canto Bight’s currency or casino coins, but hard galactic credits. Counting and recounting, and then finding a safe deposit spot for it... Perhaps  _this_ took us a while.’

Oh. Now, that was a  _piece of information_.

‘I owe you a really nice dinner.’

‘I’m aware. As you know, beside money, the release on bond in Cantonica jurisdiction requires—‘

‘The surety by a reliable person. Of course. I’m sure I already signed one?’

‘DJ showed us all the necessary documents, yes. Including the surety from you, signed with this officially-binding Cantonica nick of yours and all that. I just thought that, since you’re here, you may just as well sign a real one. You know, to calm my conscience.’

Master Codebreaker’s officially binding name on Cantonica was Szczepan Brz. It wasn’t a secret of course — he needed some papers, after all — but not exactly public knowledge either.

‘OK. It would have to be antedated, right?’

Farris rolled his eyes. ‘You think  _this_  would be a problem? When we have just had wild beasts roaming through the city and destroying our best hotels? Besides, honest, not forged surety is more than I’d ever thought I’d be able to get in this case.’

Master Codebreaker shrugged. DJ wanted him here, but surely not because of the surety? What else could this little rat want from... Ah.

‘As an upstanding citizen I’d like to offer a donation. For the costs of repairing the police station. I take it there were some damages.’

Farris sighed and rubbed his eyes.

‘I thought you were aware you already had done so. But of course, we’d gladly accept a second donation. Cantonica would be very grateful.’

*

 _Seven Stars_  was a nice hotel. As in: the most luxurious, sophisticated one. DJ wouldn’t be welcomed there, normally, but if he was paying in a hard cash, well, that changed things. Not many people did that in the shadow of financial turmoil after destruction of Hosnian Prime.

Hosnian Prime never had been a Corellia or Kuat, but by the virtue of being “a moving capital of New Republic” since at least four elections, it had become one of the financial and economical centres of the galaxy. Destroying it caused a significant hole in the galactic physical currencies market. All sentient beings rushed to take theirs out of their bank accounts.

The suite apartment was nice, too. Three rooms. A balcony. Furniture and decorations chosen by fashionable designers. Exotic plants in the corners. Some of them Hosnian ones; so the owners must have ordered the quick redecoration. Hosnian Prime’s plants weren’t considered rare and therefore expensive until ah, very recent events.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t order the room on my card.’ Tim joined DJ on the balcony. Beneath them, the city was slowly lighting up for the evening.

‘I w-w-wanted you to be my guest for on-n-nce.’

‘Ah.’ Tim suspected it was because the booking employees knew his and DJ’s faces too well. But the lie was a courteous one, so he didn’t press it. ‘You’re a terrible host, then. I had to make my drink myself.’

‘I see you m-m-managed.’ DJ threw him a glance. ‘And  _didn’t_  make on-n-ne  _for me_. I’m w—w-wounded.’

‘I know your stutter is an act.’ Nobody would be able to survive long in their job if they wouldn’t be able to change the accent and intonation.

‘I thought you found it ch-ch-charming.’ DJ took his glass and drank from it. Tim allowed him, just as he allowed DJ’s other hand to smuggle on his back and lower. Grabbing his arse. Checking his pockets.

‘Time has taught me to value charm less than honesty.’

‘Aaaah, man, that’s a pity. So, honestly, this drink is terrible. Too sweet. Too bland. Atrocious.’ It didn’t stop DJ from taking another sip.

‘Yeah, that’s why I made it. For me. So you wouldn’t have motivation to steal it. The card you’re trying to steal is empty, by the way. Not yet coded.’

‘You think I’m gonna take your word for it?’ DJ tsked. Took another sip from the drink and threw the glass away. From the balcony

Master Codebreaker waited for a moment. Nobody screamed. Nobody got hit, then. One thing less to worry about. The bribes for killing-cases were quite high.

‘It was my drink. And the card is empty.’

‘You won’t miss it, then.’ DJ flashed him a smile, before throwing it off of the balcony as well. Tim sighed mentally. The card  _was_  empty, but it wouldn’t do for empty credit chips to be found on the streets. ‘What host would allow their guests to drink such atrocities?’

‘I like my atrocities well enough, thank you. You could kill someone, you know?’

‘At this hour? In the gardens?’

‘Some love-making couple.’

DJ shrugged. ‘At least they would never taste the disappointment of the love slowly fading.’

Tim hesitated and then decided to be bold. DJ usually preferred it.

‘Did you taste it? I mean, the tragedy of the fading love.’

‘Who knows?’ DJ blinked, sighed, and somehow literally draped himself over the balcony railing like the heroine from the old romances. The dramatic-ness of this coat certainly helped. ‘Perhaps I’m tasting it now. I mean, you came here, didn’t make me a drink—’

‘—I am your guest—’

‘—never once kissed me, even though I’m tasting like this sweet atrocity of yours now—‘

‘—you can’t be serious—‘

‘—and all you did while I was groping you was talk about credit chips.’

‘—you were stealing mine.’

‘I thought,’ announced DJ, still theatrically posed and a little breathless, perhaps for show, perhaps because half-hanging from the railing wasn’t actually the most comfortable pose for breathing, ‘that such trifles didn’t matter in love.’

‘I thought love was just a made-up word.’

DJ smiled slowly, very slowly, like an amused, well-fed cat, first raising the corners of his lips, then letting the rest of his lips follow and finally opening his mouth, showing teeth.

To hell with it all. Tim did roll his eyes again, this time about them both, but he also leaned in and caught DJ’s upper lip with his teeth.

For all his — their — many talents, the following kisses weren’t really good, mostly because they were both splitting their attention between it and not falling from the balcony slash checking each other pockets, sleeves and shoes slash avoiding slicing themselves on their own hidden knives which would be  _terribly_  embarrassing and the other side would remind them it about it  _forever_.

All these things considered, it was a success, decided Tim. As in, both of them would part from this romantic endeavour alive.

‘Love,’ said DJ out of the blue, ‘is definitely a made-up word. And yet here we are.’

‘Are you going to have an existential crisis on me?’

‘No?’

‘Good. I was afraid you’re going to ask me questions like “if we were caught and one of us could escape, would you die along with me or take the cash and go” or some other—’

DJ's laugher — rich, dark, bitter — cut him short.

‘That is a stupidly sentimental question even for you. What good it was if we were both to die? Better for one to escape and remember the other in his toasts. Drink to my name and all that. Stuff straight from the songs, Tim. _“Put the bottle in my coffin, put the glass in my dead hand and sing my name, oh old friends, in the bars where the blood flows like wine_...” Madame Collyn sang it with the wrong accent and “wine” rhymed with “name”. Do you remember that?’

‘I remember.’ Master Codebreaker turned his head to look at him. Colourful neon lights of the city flashed between the railings. ‘And “every accent can be perfect or wrong, depends on the situation.” I remember that, too.’ The lights were rose and golden, like the light at the dusk. The shadows from the fancy railing’s bars were not so different from the bars of the prison, and for a moment Tim, called Master Codebreaker, felt this mysterious evening sadness, mixed with fear — a sudden awareness of the passage of time.

‘I need a drink,’ he announced, straightening. ‘A spiced one.’ That was the sure method of dealing with sudden existential problems in the circles they both had risen from. ‘And a soft, warm bed. I refuse to make out on the alabaster floor. Sorry to hurt your feelings, buddy, but we’re both too old for this. Our backs would kill us tomorrow.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> Am I fashionably late? ;)
> 
> Thanks to G. for taking a look at it for me!


End file.
